


The Hand That Feeds You

by yolkipalki



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin Jaskier | Dandelion, Bounty Hunter Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cat School (The Witcher), Chanukah 2020, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Homoerotic Partially Naked Sword Fighting, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Sex, Potions, Rope Bondage, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Tranquilizers, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, You Will Remember This As the Day You Almost Caught Cat Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:41:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28002570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yolkipalki/pseuds/yolkipalki
Summary: “Where is the witcher?” Geralt growled, offering no explanation and refusing to let the barkeep squirm from beneath his unnerving gaze.The man pointed a shaking finger towards the hallway. “U...up the stairs ..the l-last door on the right, sir.”Geralt grunted and made his way to the door. He could hear a cacophony of heartbeats and labored breathing from the other side. He hardened his brow, feeling a twitch in his eye as he drew his sword.This wouldn’t take long at all.OR: Geralt is content to uphold his time-honored tradition of Not Getting Involved. But when Vesemir asks him to put a stop to the carnage and chaos stirred up by a rogue witcher, straying far from the path, he has no other choice.Tonight is the first night of Chanukah, my little darlings! A gift from me to the BOG and all of you. Chag sameach!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 119





	The Hand That Feeds You

**THE HAND THAT FEEDS YOU**

* * *

**by Lemon**

* * *

“What was that, darling? Speak up. I couldn’t quite hear you.” The voice shifted places, bouncing from one corner of the room to the other. Geralt couldn’t track it.

His mind was racing almost as fast as his heart. 

_ How had he gotten here? Wherever here was, anyway. This...dark room with rather expensive-looking furnishings, some sort of large fur rug on the floor? He was entirely naked and tied to a rather ornate wooden bedpost with thin velvet ropes...on dark, silken sheets… _

_ What the fuck happened? _

“I...uh…” He shoved the panic back down in his chest, where it sat awkwardly on his squirming stomach. “I said...” Geralt growled, looking up dazedly as his eyes tried to follow the movements of the figure that hid in the darkness. Try as he might, they just wouldn’t focus. 

“You...were saying you don’t get involved…” The voice prompted. 

“I don’t...I don’t get involved.” His head felt like it had been split open, brains left to dry in the hot sun and the dim light from the hearth across the room was almost too much for him. He pulled against the restraints that held him but his muscles were weak and thin and he only succeeded in slumping further into the down mattress. Geralt watched dazedly as his world faded in and out and the heat pooling in his chest sunk deep into his belly. 

It was silent for a moment before the man in the dark let out a huffy sigh. “Hmm. Okay...well, that was a bit of a letdown, if I’m being perfectly honest with you. I was expecting some tragic backstory, at the very least some exposition, but fear not, butcher. I am adaptable.”

“I...” Geralt slurred, drunkenly.

“Yes, yes, yes. I  _ know _ , darling.” The cloying voice sang. Suddenly the figure was beside Geralt, savoring a deep breath as he ran his lips across the witcher’s ear, fingers tracing the contours of his face. Geralt leaned forward, his tongue darting hungrily out of his mouth and swirling around the pad of the finger that danced across his lips.

“Hmm. A bit of a lightweight with the potions, now aren’t we?” The man chuckled as he turned Geralt’s head from side to side, the Wolf's eyes rolling around aimlessly, his touch met no resistance and he clicked his tongue and shrugged. “Well, that is  _ entirely  _ my fault, you have my sincerest apologies. How was I to know that this particular cocktail would have such a...paralyzing impact?” He juggled a small bottle in his hand casually. "Why, you're completely helpless like this... aren't you? Powerless to stop me, were I to decide that something more…. _ sinister _ would suit my fancy." He grinned as Geralt groaned drunkenly, thrusting his hips forward. The stranger glanced nonchalantly at his nails as he slipped the small bottle over and under his fingers before tossing it in the air and uncorking it with a rather dramatic flourish. “Some White Honey should take the edge off of what I, well what I gave you to take that edge off.” He laughed and it was music. “Shall we then?” He put the bottle to his lips and emptied it. Straddling Geralt and lowering himself down, he ran his fingers through Geralt’s hair and tipped his head back, his other hand cupping the underside of his jaw. 

He kissed Geralt slowly and deeply, the potion slipping from his mouth and spilling from his tongue past Geralt’s lips. Geralt leaned into the kiss, his tongue swiping at the underside of the stranger’s upper lip as he pulled away. Geralt could still smell the faint spice of his breath, the purr resonating through his chest.

* * *

Geralt had resisted every step of the way. He told Vesemir he wasn’t going to get involved, that he wasn’t interested in bringing  _ anyone  _ to justice, much less some wayward witcher from another school entirely...and a cat, at that. His refusal gave pause to hesitation when he had learned that rather than hunt monsters, the witcher had chosen more financially sound options - such as killing off kings and baronesses for coin and the occasional mage or witcher. So, as one could imagine, work for the rest of them was getting quite scarce. People found they’d take a kikimora over the risk of a witcher who may kill them or bed them, or both if it suited him.

So, begrudgingly Geralt set out and two months later he found himself filthy, tired and seething. He grumbled to himself as he stabled Roach and casually threatened to kill someone if the stablehand did not return and attend to her soon.

Altogether, for a seemingly uncatchable witcher who possessed unmatched skill, the man had been easy to follow and arguably easier to find. 

_ Suppose that’s what he gets for leaving a trail of bodies across the Continent.  _ Geralt thought. 

He threw the door open to the inn and pretended not to notice as the ruckus died down to a dull roar, eyes trained on him as he approached the bar. 

“Where is the witcher?” He growled, offering no explanation and refusing to let the barkeep squirm from beneath his unnerving gaze. 

The man pointed a shaking finger towards the hallway. “U...up the stairs ..the l-last door on the right, sir.” 

Geralt grunted and made his way to the door. He could hear a cacophony of heartbeats and labored breathing from the other side. He hardened his brow, feeling a twitch in his eye as he drew his sword. 

This wouldn’t take long at all.

Geralt kicked the door open hard enough to knock a painting from the wall. The room was lavish, lit by only the crackling fire in the hearth. The man in the bed made no move to stop what he was doing, not lifting his eyes from where they flickered wickedly beneath long, dark lashes. The horrified stablehand stared at Geralt and in a moment of utter panic forgot entirely about the lips wrapped around his prick. Geralt huffed in irritation as the witcher twisted his lips down the cock in his grasp and yanked back up with a violent slurp. The anxious stablehand, now consumed by his unexpected climax, gripped the back of the head in his lap and the sheets as he cried out. A dramatic gulp, a swallow, and a sigh of contentment later, the man turned to face Geralt. 

“Good evening. Can I help you, witcher?” His dripping lips caught glimmers of light from the fire, accentuating their shape. His eyes were nearly white, the light reflecting the faintest blue and grey. Geralt found them almost...unsettling. He banished the thought and broke eye contact quickly.

Geralt pursed his lips, this was a waste of time. He took a step forward and stopped as something wiggled beneath the sheets. The head of a barmaid emerged from the folds of silk. Wiping the wet from her red, swollen lips she took note of the stablehand’s face, twisted in utter distress, and turned to follow his gaze. 

“Out.” Geralt growled. 

The man in the bed threw his head back and whined in protest as the couple scrambled from beneath the sheets and clamored after their clothing, begging the intruder for mercy and discretion. 

"Now just look at what you've done. I hope you're happy." An arm flew upwards and fell once again, hand draped dramatically across his eyes. 

“Get up.” Geralt ordered, making no move to lower his sword, staring down the edge of the blade at the naked figure with utter disdain.

Slowly the man's arm slid down his face, his fingers tracing down the hard lines of his torso through the hair of his chest. His eyelashes fluttered and his bright eyes opened, glowing in the dim light. The white was daunting and the thought itself that something inside of him could squirm simply at the sight of someone’s eyes irritated Geralt beyond comprehension. 

The man in the bed pouted at the unwelcome guest and whined as he moved to rest his head lazily on his left hand, his right tracing circles where the stablehand had been laying just moments before. 

“Do you like games... _ butcher _ ?” His eyes flicked upwards, meeting Geralt’s briefly before they narrowed. 

The bed was empty. 

Geralt spun around to meet a flash of teeth in the dark as the face split into a devilish grin. 

“Let's play."

* * *

The Cat was genuinely surprised at the alacrity of his prey. He swiped at Geralt only to nearly lose his balance as his swing caught the empty air. Geralt side-stepped, pivoting as he did so to line up a counterstrike with his sword.   
  
The Cat’s momentary near-loss of balance did not afford Geralt the advantage he had hoped, however. As the wayward witcher turned to match Geralt’s motion he pressed his attack, closing the distance and rendering the Wolf’s sword strike harmless. He was far too close for Geralt’s liking. 

  
A quick grab and a twist of the wrist and Geralt’s sword dropped impotently to the ground.   
  
Geralt’s focus remained unphased. The Cat gasped as Geralt’s left hand, now closed into a fist, collided with his solar-plexus, winding him with enough force to lift his feet from the ground.   
  
Rather than attempt to dodge away from the larger, stronger man, the Cat adjusted his grip on Geralt’s right hand, tightening his own hands like claws as he coiled his body into the larger man. He twisted gracefully, his leg sliding up the side of Geralt’s neck as he pulled the Wolf off-balance and flipped him over onto his back. Geralt winced at the pressure building in his elbow from the arm-bar lock.   
  
The Cat hissed and the Wolf howled. 

The odd witcher lifted his eyebrows and hummed with amusement and surprise as Geralt used brute force alone to prevent him from snapping his arm with the leverage afforded by the arm-bar lock.   
  
Geralt managed to turn over just enough to get to his feet as the Cat stubbornly refused to relent his grip.   
  
Standing with the smaller witcher still clinging to his arm, hanging from it like a petulant child, Geralt turned and swung him towards the stone hearth of the fireplace. “Shit!” The smaller witcher hissed in anticipation of the pain.   
  
The impact was more or less what he had expected, still, his body spasmed as his back collided with the hard stone, forcing him to relinquish his grip on Geralt’s arm. He fell to the floor in a crumpled heap.

  
Geralt huffed as he caught his breath and massaged his right elbow, noticing a bit of blood on his wrist where the other witcher’s fingernails had dug into his skin. “If you cooperate, I won’t have to kill you.” He said.   
  
The Cat laughed darkly.   
  
“What’s so funny?” Geralt snarled, the mirth of his victim irritating him to no end.   
  
“Why, my dear butcher,” the Cat began. “Who do you think is in control here?”   
  
Geralt growled.   
  
“You won’t be the first wild dog I’ve managed to make come to heel, and you won’t be the last.” He looked up at Geralt as he said this, his white eyes glowing slightly blue with reflected light. “You have no idea what you’re up against.”   
  
“I was hoping you’d say something like that.” Geralt said. Killing the impudent bastard would be far more satisfying than taking him alive.   
  
He stepped forward and, bending down, grabbed the smaller, slender witcher by the throat. Just as he did so, his grip slackened and he stumbled back, his head feeling rather like it had just been dunked in icy water.    
  
“I’m impressed, Butcher.” the Cat purred as he sprung to his feet. “Even most witchers feel my cocktails’ effects far sooner."   
  
Geralt managed to look once more at the small pricks on his right wrist before he collapsed. Then, as his mind clouded like wool he could hear warm laughter, laced with the faintest hint of cruelty.    
  


Well,  _ fuck _ .

* * *

  
  


Geralt couldn’t seem to break the woven ropes which bound his wrists to the headboard of the bed, and he couldn’t untie them either, as the knots were ridiculously intricate. He resolved he’d have to break the headboard. He wasn’t sure how long he had been there but it was long enough to put a strain on his left shoulder, which he had been nursing for some time now, to say nothing of his right elbow which ached from the attempted break. 

A pair of brilliant white lights, rimmed in humming blue, nestled deep in the shadowed corner. They twitched as they tracked Geralt’s movements, watching him with curiosity. 

The Cat let out a needy, little moan and spoke his voice dripping like warm honey down the back of Geralt’s neck. “Do join me for dinner, won’t you dear?”

Geralt, quite honestly, had no idea how to respond to that. Settling for an awkward “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” nearly jumping as a tongue ran up the side of his cheek. 

The bastard was fast, he would have to give him that much.

“ _ Lilit’s tits _ , you taste like home.” The Cat purred. Geralt felt it hum in his chest. “It’s been far too long since I’ve had another witcher in my bed.” 

Geralt’s eyes were beginning to focus. The first thing he saw was the medallion that hung lazily across the man’s bare chest; the hissing face of a cat, cast in silver and glowing yellow in the firelight. Geralt blinked away the clouds from his vision but the voice was coming from across the room now.

"Humans are such fragile little things." The Cat mused. "One wrong move and-" his voice was across the room again, the sound of something snapping...a quill maybe? 

Dramatically, the man stepped forward into the dim light cast from the hearth, the light from behind bathing his figure in a halo of yellow light. Slender and graceful he crouched before Geralt at the foot of the bed. Resting on the balls of his feet, he cocked his head curiously to the side. 

If he would just stop moving for one damn minute...

  
  


“I don’t-”

“Yes, yes. We’ve been over this, dear. Don’t you remember? We literally just had this conversation like an hour ago." He stopped, his handsome face contorting into a goofy frown. "I mean, honestly I don’t know. It might have been closer to twenty minutes...you see I have this really awful tendency to lose track of time, particularly if I’m enjoying myself.” The voice was to his right now, the man draping his long arms over the side of the headboard dramatically and letting it swing like a lounging cat. “And oh how I’ve been enjoying this time we’ve shared. In any case, it has been somewhere between fifteen minutes and a full day, I can tell you that.” The man was in front of him again, gesturing dramatically to the room as he took a single graceful step back, shifting his weight subtly to his back foot. Geralt watched him as he rambled on poetically. Slender, tight muscles twitching with agitation, a boyish, handsome face with a single scar running from the left corner of his forehead to underneath his right ear. His body was riddled in small scars and punctures but nothing as stark and as gnarled as the ones that twisted the pink of Geralt’s skin and knotted his flesh. He looked almost like a dancer, but Geralt saw it for what it was. As nonchalant as he looked, as distracted as he seemed, he was poised to strike. 

“You know, we’re not all that different, you and I.” 

"Fuck off." Geralt growled behind clenched teeth. 

“Ugh. So rude. Don’t tell me that in all your long years, not once have you resented the choice that was made for you.” 

Geralt didn’t say a word, hoping to quell the flood of prickling anger that swelled in his chest. 

“Not once,” The Cat crouched in a chair, slicing off a piece of an apple and chewing obnoxiously loud. 

_ Where did he… _

“Not once, slogging through this miserable hell being ridiculed and spat upon and cursed by the very people you swore to protect…” He was sprawling coyly at the foot of the bed, took a dismissive look at the apple, and cast it aside carelessly letting it roll across the floor.

"You don't bite the hand that feeds you." Geralt muttered bitterly.

"Mmm. And to that I say,” He had slid into Geralt’s lap now, fingers tracing the contours of scar and muscle. Geralt took a deep breath, trying to focus on the Cat’s words but all he could hear, all he could feel was his gentle, deliberate touch. “Kill the creature who shoves its hand in your mouth and feed yourself." The Cat laughed but it was rigid, laced with years of bitterness and rancid pain. The touch was gone and Geralt fought the urge to moan at its sudden absence. The Cat paced, fiddling with something. "Come now, don't look at me like that. You mean to tell me that not once have you had the itch to drive a sword through the skull of one of these ungrateful maggots. That you never wanted to show your master, the monster who made you what you are, the true horrors of this world. But...wait,” He feigned a thoughtful hum. “You have, haven’t you... _ butcher _ ?” 

Geralt let the anger tear through him, shredding his carefully woven control like hungry flames as he pulled against the solid headboard. He felt the wood begin to splinter and crack under his strength. 

“Ah!  _ Don’t  _ interrupt my exposition.” With a flick of his wrist, the leather bootlace the white-eyed witcher had been fiddling with, wrapping around his deft, slender fingers unraveled and he whipped Geralt’s bare abdomen, eliciting a stifled groan. “Bad dog.” The Cat pouted. 

He reveled in the fire that ignited in Geralt. Though he tried to hide it, Geralt’s heart began to race once more and the heat between his thighs made him twitch.

”Oh.” The Cat yelped excitedly and with a twitch of his nose, he pulled back the lace and once more struck Geralt with it. Harder this time. “You  _ like  _ that don’t you?”

Geralt muffled the yell that caught in his throat through a hoarse grunt and looked up at the Cat with disgust. “Would it matter?” 

The Cat stopped pacing, gracefully poised on the balls of his feet he spun around to face his captive, mouth agape, his reflective eyes wide in utter shock. He scoffed indignantly. “Well, of course, it matters.” The Cat sputtered, clearly wounded by Geralt’s assumptions. “I’m not some sort of  _ animal _ , you know. Far be it from me to give you the most exhilarating night of sin, of sweet...transgression, of decadence, and passion, far beyond anything you could ever imagine, before I take what I came here for.” 

Geralt was confused. 

“Oh,” he laughed, it was genuine but mocking and something about it stung Geralt’s cheeks. “Oh, you didn’t realize,  _ Geralt _ ?” The Cat continued smugly as he straddled Geralt’s hips and draped his slender arms over the scarred shoulders, lacing his fingers together. Geralt didn’t like the way his name slipped from those lips like warm butter sliding across a pan. He liked it even less than the way he felt his cock twitch at the sound. “You didn’t find me here, I found  _ you _ . Nothing personal, mate. Shame, really. I hadn’t anticipated  _ this. _ ” He reached down and ran his fingers along the inside of Geralt’s thigh.

Geralt could’ve drowned in his scent. It smelled of sweat, cloves, and citrus, pairing well with the warmth of his breath, which smelled dizzyingly of rum spice. 

The Cat rubbed the crest of his cheekbone against Geralt’s throat and hummed. Geralt chose not to fight the urge to lean into it, finding himself pressing his own cheek into the man's throat and turning his face along his sternum. Momentarily forgetting his predicament entirely his arms jerked forward as he attempted to grab the man and pull him closer. 

The Cat laughed and Geralt groaned. He was unbearably warm and his hands, though calloused, were tender as they slid across his skin, leaving trails of warmth behind. 

“If you’re good, I’ll untie you. I might even let you have a taste.” 

The words  _ alone.  _ Geralt struggled against the ropes that bound him. He felt the hot breath against his own lips and shuddered. The rum spice was dizzying and Geralt bucked at the air faster. 

“Let’s see if the dog can purr, shall we?” 

* * *

This was a terrible idea and Geralt knew that. He might not have been completely...sober... at the moment, but he knew entirely what he was doing and he had no intentions of stopping it. Damn the consequences. He could think of one thousand ways that this could end very poorly for him and when he had finished listing them, he began to think of one thousand more. None of that mattered at the moment, though. It seemed like lifetimes had passed since he had felt this.

Utterly unable to form coherent thoughts, much less vocalize them, he settled for a needy whimper that grew louder and more pathetic as the bed creaked in protest beneath them. He might have been ashamed or embarrassed had things been different. Maybe he should have been. 

It was a dangerous game to play, showing so much desire for something that could be so easily snatched away, but he could worry about that later. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the heady smell of sex as he felt the hot spend paint his chest. 

The white-eyed witcher twitched and moaned. He said something to Geralt but Geralt didn’t catch it. Too distracted by the nimble fingers that traced over the intricate knots that held him to the headboard. They danced down and across the veins in his arms, detouring to follow scar after scar until they reached his chest, stopping to swirl through the sticky mixture of clove oil, seed, and sweat. 

“Such a damned shame.” The Cat whispered reverently, almost to himself. Geralt could’ve sworn for a single moment he saw something beneath the mischievous white fire, but what he saw he couldn’t quite place. Before he could think anymore on the matter, he tasted leather as the braided bootlace was shoved between his teeth pushing into the skin of his cheeks as the Cat thrust it forward with a jerk of his hands. Geralt stifled a groan, his eyes fluttering. The grip released but the leather stayed, the nimble fingers had tied it expertly behind Geralt’s head.

The Cat stretched his legs idly, the muscles twitching with anticipation. Shimmying into Geralt’s lap he hummed a little tune to himself, ran his fingers through his tousled hair, and ground his hips against Geralt. Geralt moaned hungrily at the cock hardening between his thighs, thrusting impotently into the air. The Cat turned around and lifted himself onto his knees, placing his hands over one another and stretching. Geralt noted the hard line of his spine was accented by a rather hideous looking scar, at least two fingers in width that bisected him, running from the base of his skull down to his tailbone as if he had been sliced in two. 

_ What hap- _

The thought fizzled before it had fully formed, consumed by the heat of the body that pressed against his chest. Geralt hadn’t heard him reach for the oil but he could smell the spice of cloves, stronger now, mingling with sweat and fire. Then he felt the hand tighten around him and twist down, he thrust into it, losing himself to the overwhelming sensations of pleasure and pain.

“What’s a good fuck without a little fire, hmm?” The Cat smirked and without warning, he thrust himself down onto Geralt. 

_ Fuck _ . 

It was unbearably hot, painfully tight. It was too much and he  _ needed  _ more. 

“By the  _ gods _ , what a creature you are.” The Cat draped his head back to rest on Geralt’s collarbone. He slid up and off, gasping and lingering just long enough to savor Geralt’s whines of protest before sliding back down. The rhythm of his hips didn’t slow as he flicked his wrist, slicing through the ropes that held Geralt to the headboard. Before Geralt’s arms could fall to his side, shoulders screaming in protest, the other witcher grasped his hands and pulled him forward, sliding onto his stomach and purring contentedly. He opened his mouth to say something biting but Geralt was intent on ruining that plan thoroughly. He placed a rough hand on the back of the Cat’s head and pressed his face none-to-kindly into the silken sheets. The stranger whined indignantly. Geralt eased his hold just enough for the Cat to rotate his face up enough to look to the side, just enough to gaze at Geralt through his peripherals.

Their hands roamed mindlessly, fingers digging into skin and scraping along the stains and tears of old scars. They fucked with a frenzy, no concern for breaking the other. Overcome by instinct and lust, they bit, scratched, growled, like feral animals, tearing into each other. Humans were glass creatures, prone to break if the perfect conditions weren't met, but witchers were monsters, made of silver, steel, and poison. 

It felt so  _ right _ , like nothing Geralt had experienced...at least not since he set out on the Path. He rolled atop the Cat once more, biting at the full, flush lips. His gut already twisted with regret at what he was about to do. 

_ Don’t forget what you came here for. _

Before he could lose his resolve, Geralt flung himself forward, tumbling off the bed, grabbing his silvered sword, and standing. 

“Not fair.” The Cat whined, but as Geralt whirled around to face the bed, it was already empty. “And to think, I’d nearly decided to keep you.” 

Geralt ripped the leather lace from his mouth, stretching his jaw. He rotated his wrist, steadying the grip on his sword as he turned, ears twitching, following the voice that bounced from the bed and around the dark room. 

Geralt sighed in utter disbelief at the naked man now lounging, seemingly unphased, in the velvet chair, stroking his cock. “ _ Really _ ?” 

The Cat’s white eyes sparked as he tracked Geralt’s careful paces around the room, the point of the Wolf’s sword never straying from its target.

His tongue darted out to wet his rosy lips, the tips of his canines glinting in the light cast from the dying fire. “Don’t tell me this doesn’t excite you at least a little.” Before Geralt could respond, the witcher batted his eyes, biting his lip coyly. “Don’t try and lie to me darling, you’re  _ naked, _ remember. Stalking me like some sort of wild animal, with  _ both  _ swords pointed right at my pretty...little...mouth...” There it was, that laugh. That music. “No, no. Don’t pretend like you’re not enjoying yourself. Besides, I haven’t forgotten that you’ve yet to co-” 

Geralt lunged forward, the tip of the blade little more than a centimeter from the Cat’s throat. He watched it bob as the witcher swallowed hard. Geralt could smell the adrenaline that flooded his blood.

“I was going to let you live but I've changed my mind.” Geralt cringed at the thought of traveling nearly a month trying to keep his hands on the slippery bastard...or off of him. Which would be harder, he wondered. He felt his throat tighten and shoved the question from his mind.

“I would say the same but I really can’t stand the thought.” The Cat mused disappointedly. As he twirled a finger around a lock of his hair, crossing his legs idly, he held out Geralt’s steel sword lazily, pointing it at the Wolf’s throat in kind.

Geralt rolled his eyes. What effort for such a useless display of theatrics.

“And why is that?” Geralt begrudgingly indulged him. They hadn’t moved save for the twirling of the Cat’s twitchy fingers.

“Hmm? Well, a mouth as talented as yours...t’would be a heinous crime to rob the world of that very stoic and yet excruciatingly precise tongue.” He smiled devilishly but there was a silver thread of fear woven in his honey voice and Geralt could feel it, could see it in his eyes. 

“Here.” The Cat cast Geralt’s sword aside dramatically, his hand raised in a flourish while the other hand produced a bag of coin and tossed it at the Wolf.

“What the hell is this?” Geralt narrowed his eyes, refusing to lower the point of his sword. 

“It’s money.” The man spoke slowly as if talking to a child.

Geralt’s eye twitched. “I know it’s-”

“Consider it an incentive, to catch me and bring me to justice.” His lips twisted into a devilish smirk as he put his wrists together and held them out to Geralt, who felt his knees start to give a little. 

_ Focus.  _

He cleared his throat and smirked, pushing the sword ever-so-slightly into the skin of the Cat’s throat. “What would you call  _ this  _ then?” 

The strange witcher didn’t bat an eye. “Someone wants you dead, Geralt. Someone very powerful and they’re willing to pay a pretty penny for that beautiful head of yours on a pike. Disappear or don’t, take the coin or leave it. I don’t care either way.” With that he slipped around the blade that kissed his throat and threw the window open, nose twitching as the cold night air rushed into the hot room.

“W-wait.” Geralt shouted, staring stupidly at the naked man bathed in moonlight. “Who  _ are  _ you?” Geralt muttered in disbelief at the naked man.

He turned to look curiously at Geralt, humming as he did so.

“Fret not butcher, you haven’t seen the last of me.” He stood perched on the windowsill on the balls of his feet. A faint trail of red led down from his neck where the tip of Geralt’s sword had just barely pierced flesh. The cat reached up and touched his throat with his middle finger without breaking eye contact with Geralt.   
  
“Not by a longshot…” he said, lifting his hand to his mouth to taste the blood, letting his finger gracefully trace the red liquid from the tip of his tongue and across his bottom lip.

Then the Wolf was there, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him once more to his feet. He caught his breath, off-white eyes glistening in the embers of the extinguished fire. Geralt could feel his pulse fluttering like the wings of a bird.

“I asked you a question. Who are you?” Geralt lifted his eyebrows, a smile tugging faintly at the corners of his lips. 

“Bloody hell, butcher. You couldn’t just let me have my dramatic exit, could you?" He bit his lip, he didn't want to go. "I, for one, think it would be far more mysterious and exhilarating if I disappeared into the dark of night without telling you my name. But if you insist…” He pivoted the rest of the way, skillfully twirling around the side of the blade that Geralt held extended. He pressed his chest to Geralt’s and breathed the name across his lips. “Jaskier.” Geralt swallowed hard, savoring the spice of his breath one last time. He opened his mouth as if to repeat the name back but before he could Jaskier winked, still utterly naked with only his bag slung over his shoulder, he fell gracefully backward out the balcony window and slipped silently into the night. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed my dears! As I'm sure you've discovered by now I am absolutely horrid at writing smut. The concept of cat witcher!Jaskier just wouldn't get out of my head thanks primarily to Jadelyn and eyesofshinigami. You guys are the best (and the worst) and I blame you for this.
> 
> Chag sameach! Happy Chanukah, my little lovely lemons.


End file.
